


Don't Pasta Away

by JQ (musicmillennia)



Series: If It Ain't Baroque [4]
Category: DC's Legends of Tomorrow (TV), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Dorky T-Shirts, Fight & Makeup, Garlic Sucks, Lovers' Spat, M/M, Vampire Len
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-06 14:35:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6758035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicmillennia/pseuds/JQ
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>>>Mick (5:03)<br/>Does His Majesty want extra garlic on his lasagna?<br/>>>Len (5:03)<br/>Mick</p><p>Mick knows how to deal with jackass vampires.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't Pasta Away

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous said: Could you possibly write Mick using stuff like garlic, or something he genuinely doesn't like that may not be vampire related, to "ward off" vampire!Len when he's pissed at him? And Len doing the same when he's pissed at Mick? Please and thank you!
> 
> Since this is in the If It Ain’t Baroque verse, Mick doesn’t really have a repellent that matches garlic to vampires. So let's just have Len suffering instead.

It’s five o’clock in the evening. Mick will be home from restoring another one of Central Museum’s pieces by now.

Blowing out a quiet sigh, Len retrieves his phone from next to his easel.

 _> >Len (5:01)  
_ _Dinner?_

Not for him, obviously, but Mick knows that. People don’t bother to realize it, but Mick knows a lot of things.

_> >Mick (5:02)  
Sure. I hope you like Italian._

…and Len fucked things up. Damn it.

_> >Len (5:02)  
Come on, Mick_

He’s too prideful to admit he was wrong; it’s become one of his worst faults.

_> >Mick (5:03)  
Does His Majesty want extra garlic on his lasagna?_

_> >Len (5:03)  
Mick_

_> >Mick (5:04)  
Snart_

Len locks his phone and turns back to his painting. He’s gotten better at watercolors over the years, if he does say so himself; while it’s not turning out as he originally planned, art rarely caters to his exact wishes, so he’ll take what he can get. Worked for him when he was a human, and it’ll work now.

But he knows he won’t be able to focus anymore. Heaving another sigh, Len rises and trudges to his wardrobe. He replaces his ratty tank top with [a white Hannibal Lecter t-shirt](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/41lKp5mWtPL._AC_UL320_SR300,320_.jpg) that reads _Let’s do lunch!_ in red text underneath Hopkins’ face. He reapplies his makeup and pulls on his combat boots.

Best way to apologize without actually apologizing: be more tolerable. And to show Mick he’s more tolerable, he has to see him in person.

* * *

 Mick doesn’t hesitate to open his door for Len, which is worrying in itself since they’re definitely fighting—then the sharp scent of garlic attacks Len’s senses and the vampire hisses on instinct.

There are two cloves resting on Mick’s counter. Len’s already feeling his skin burning.

“When do you want dinner, _sweetheart_?” Mick sneers. His black _[I Can Be a Real Smart Taz](http://ecx.images-amazon.com/images/I/812oN0thSlL._UL1500_.jpg) _ t-shirt stretches across his muscles and Len can’t even appreciate the view. “Thought, ‘cause it’s a Friday night, I’d break out my mother’s silver.”

Yep. Yep, Len fucked up.

He retreats to the hallway, out of the garlic’s direct scent. It still stings his nose, but he can handle it from here.

“ _Mick_ ,” he snaps.

Mick crosses his arms. “Oo, did I hurt your feelings? Don’t you worry, Snart—I’ll _protect_ you from the mean garlic.”

Damn.

Len grimaces. “I don’t see the problem.”

Mick snarls, “Of _course_ you don’t. You’re up on your high horse, as usual. Thinkin’ that everybody will just fall in line when you tell ‘em to—that everybody will fall at your feet and thank you for telling them no. Well _you_ ,” jabbing a finger at Len’s chest, “don’t get to tell me _shit_. We’re in a relationship, jackass; the second you stop _letting_ me do things is the second you make it a dictatorship.”

Len purses his lips. “I _told_ you, I don’t want you to get killed!”

“I’ve been out at night before!”

“And you ended up in the _emergency room_!”

“But I survived! Wanna know why? ‘Cause I fought off a werewolf and _won_! Fuck, Lenny, you’re soundin’ like a cliché asshole from a shit movie! If you wanna protect me so bad, then we’ll stick together! What’s so difficult about that?”

Vulcan trots over to greet Len. Mick scoops him up instead.

And, okay, yes, Len does sort of sound like a cliché asshole. He just—Mick isn’t someone he wants to lose. He thought he knew that.

Mick’s also right, though. Len won’t tell him that, but he is. Len doesn’t want this to become a dictatorship, an a—his skin crawls.

No. He and Mick will _not_ become that. They can’t.

His eyes trail around the hallway. “Then I suppose I’ll let my friends know there will be a human tomorrow night.”

Mick stiffens, astonished. “What?”

Len sighs through his nose. His hands clasp in front of him, thumbs fidgeting. “My friends, what few I’ve made over the years, have invited me out tomorrow night. I trust them implicitly. If you want to go, I’m sure they’ll be willing to accommodate.”

It’ll be strange. What humans Len has brought to their outings have been regarded as easy blood at best. Mick is drastically different. Hopefully they’ll understand.

Mick regards him closely. Abruptly, he sets Vulcan down, turns on his heel, and stomps to his kitchenette. For a moment, Len feels his heart sink—then Mick takes out a plastic bag, fills it with the garlic, and storms down the hallway to his neighbor.

She opens the door, a petite brunette with a pretty face.

“Um, can I help you?” she asks. Len’s eyes narrow as her eyes catch on Mick’s muscle.

Mick holds up the bag. “You like garlic?”

“U-uh…sure?”

“Here.”

He shoves the bag into her arms. She yelps, nearly dropping them in her surprise.

“Wh-what—”

But Mick’s already charging back to Len. He grabs Hannibal Lecter’s face and drags him into his apartment.

“Get in here, nerd.”

Len picks Vulcan up, a tiny smile appearing on his lips. “You’re one to talk, _Taz_.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
